She stepped back from him, eyeing him critically, but still smiling.
“You aren’t, if you won’t try to do the first thing I ask you. But you will, won’t you?”
“I antagonised her at the start.”
“I can assure you she’s getting over that. She admits you are tremendously clever. She says that you have resurrected old Isaac Burble from the dead. And you will save poor Mary Farleigh. Her illness will bring you together. When you meet, will it be so frightfully difficult to be nice to her?”
“And hold my tongue about you?”
“Her ways,” she pleaded, “are not your ways, but can’t you walk in them for a little while to—to please me?”
“What a witch! I prefer more direct methods.”
“Oh-h-h!”
Tears filled her eyes. Feeling a brute, he kissed them away, whispering: “I’ll do my best, dearest. Now, tell me, when shall I see you again?”
“I may be here when you come back presently. And to-morrow I shall be under the big tree on the green at six-thirty.”